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Severus couldn’t believe what he was about to do. Stuffed into a tiny backroom with a vanity and a mirror, wearing a black sequin dress and a blonde feathered wig, he trembled violently.
‘Here, put these on,’ Eric said, handing him some long black gloves. ‘I still can’t believe you have a tattoo. You really don’t seem the type.’
‘Believe me, I regret it,’ he said, pulling the gloves hastily up his thin arms.
Every day I see chances to be bitter or comment on something that’s none of my business on the internet and i simply do not do that Idk what some of y’all are having such a hard time for
Nah imagine picking a fight specifically with minors on their own blogs, being a pretentious ass about their boundaries the whole while, and then going “wow haha I can’t believe how mad these kids are.” And with the implication that it’s just kids that disagree with you.
I’m well on my way to 30 in a couple years and I still think you’re a vile excuse for a human being, same with anyone that supports incest/pedophilia/etc. Morals don’t just drop off with age. Hell, the added life experience has really only just given me an even stronger disgust for it. I’ve seen the normalization of it as a grooming technique and the material produced in it used to turn minors. It happens.Don’t pretend it doesn’t.
So this is really the hill you’re going to die on?
Yeah, it’s fictional. Everybody knows fictional characters aren’t real dumbass. It’s the mindset and the implication of enjoyment from these topics that unsettles people. It’s the normalization and glorification of it. You could argue someone that ships fictional adults/minors together isn’t a pedophile until you’re blue in the face but I still would die before I’d let that person anywhere near my underage friends. It’s the same thought here.
I don’t care that it’s a bunch of fictional brothers in some made up galaxy. You’re still seeking out this concept specifically for the enjoyment of it. You have other characters to choose from, other ships. You chose thisspecifically.I don’t see you any differently than some deranged individual looking up incest on pornhub. You’re into a socially demonized topic, one that’s considered morally reprehensible by almost literally anyone you would discuss this with off the internet. Accept it and move on. Say it with your whole chest and keep to your fucking self. Seeking out blogs to argue that point against, especially minors that you have no fucking business bringing your deranged fetish discussion to in the first place, is not doing anything except fueling the bizarre ass victim complex that every proshipper apparently seems to have.
Wake up besties the dinluke faves collaborated !!!!
To which @swedenis-h had this super sweet comic idea and I wanted to do it justice :D
Comic sketches (courtesy of the lovely @swedenis-h)
Oneshot (courtesy of me lol)
Dusk on Tatooine had always been filled with heady purple and the last licks of sweat the day tried to cling to, the day like an overenthusiastic mastiff trying to be led away.
Two dots of red on the horizon, a flickering fire- Tatooine shed its warmth like washing slobber from skin. The day’s heat lingered, and lingered… and vapourised without warning.
A flicker of silver, a spark of gold.
The smell of hot circuitry, huddling closer to the fire. Luke tried to stay still as Din removed the wiring tool from the open wiring panel of his robot hand.
“It’s beautiful work.” Din complimented gently, lowly, his gloved fingertips tracing the palm lines of Luke’s prosthetic hand. Almost as if he was tracing the lines of a map, learning the routes by heart. Luke imagined it would feel really nice, if there hadn’t been a dull edge of metallicism to every sensation from that hand.
“It doesn’t…” Luke fights a frustrated noise, feelings stuck in his throat like backed up Tatooine traffic. His throat tightened.
A breath.
“It’s not.” Luke admits finally, gaze shifting to meet Din’s. A warriors fire sparking in his eyes for the tiniest moment as he resigned himself to unravelling this particular insecurity for Din the way he had cracked the circuitry of his robotic hand wide open.
Young, immature. The harbingers that were supposed to breed wisdom and maturity… may have only just hurt the people he loved.
How could it not have? With Han’s sight affected for the rest of his life and Leia having nightmares about watching the empire take Han away…
Forces, he’d been so stupid. Too wrapped up in the thrill of getting to finally use Force for good to realize the time had been wrong.
Would the situation had resolved itself without his intervention? Had Luke lost his hand for nothing?
“This is going to sound weird…” Luke trailed with a reluctant smile, struggling with the words- embarrassment reigning them in until they crowded in his mouth. Hesitancy to lay bare; a fog he couldn’t shake. “But…”
He grimaced.
“It’s not your hand?” Din asked, ripping the words right out of his mouth. Luke blinked back at him, surprised.
Luke gulped thickly, but the tight knot of emotion wouldn’t unravel.
“Yeah.” Luke murmured reflexively, casting his gaze down- back to his hands. They were both held aloft in front of him, palms up. In theory there wasn’t much visible difference between them, but…
“Mine had calluses,” Luke began, his voice cracking at the admission as his eyes darted to where the calluses used to be. “from my work at the farm.”
An image of his hand before the injury conjured itself in his vision, like an overlay, as he studied the robotic one. Sticky blackness climbed his insides, his skin crawled.
A ghost he was haunted by day and night.
Din paused in his ministrations, and the silence yawned and waned in the space between them.
Luke was drawn back in.
“It had scars from working on ships,” Luke explained, his left, real, hand reaching out to point to the vulnerable stretch of skin around his wrist and the skin on the other side of his hand. It was pale in a way that was uncharacteristic of Luke’s tanned skin tone. The skin looked less durable than the rest of him on the robot hand, a constant chink in his armour.
A breath. Luke could see the ghost clear a day, like a sort of glitchy holo projection.
“It also matched my left hand.” Luke’s voice was small as he stared at the robot hand, the gaping hole where the circuitry he had been showing Din spilled out. The visible circuitry when he fixed it made it both more and less easy to see the hand as his, paradoxically.
Luke had almost lost more than his hand.
The price of his hand was nothing compared to the company of his friends. His loved ones.
He knew that.
He knew that.
But why was there such a bitterness there? A guilt and shame- the robot hand meant more than just a second chance at mobility; it meant an unspoken forgiveness from his loved ones.
AndForces, that was hard to digest.
Leia, Han and Chewie had almost died that day. It would have been his fault that their stars had blinked out, and Luke would probably never forgive himself for it.
He’d just dove in unthinkingly, all of his mind on the need to save them that he hadn’t thought it through-
The robot hand was just one big scar he’d never be rid of. One big forgiveness he wasn’t sure he deserved.
Why was blind, reckless, heroism worth any forgiveness?
Luke would always be haunted by his old hand- the one that had just always been a part of him- it followed him when tinkering and sparring, the loss a thing of endlessness.
A gloved hand grabbed out for the wrist of Luke’s real hand, cutting Luke’s absent movement short. He’d been unknowingly tracing the places his right hand used to have character and definition. Startled, Luke’s thoughts fell away.
“I-I… I sound insane.” Luke back-pedalled, feeling self-conscious and awash with a hot and sticky shame at the vulnerable oddity about it. Fuck, he’d opened up too much there-
A tug.
“These are my real hands,” Din’s warm voice followed, and Luke looked up at him with a moment of flustered confusion.
Din looked down at his own gloved hands, studying them anew. “The ones you see now.”
“I know their weight. Their durability.” Din flexed his hands like he was about to pick up a rifle.
“The ones underneath the gloves, I haven’t seen as mine for a long time now.” Din admitted softly, looking at his hands now like they were foreign to him. “They were soft, and reaching for something that doesn’t exist anymore.”
Oh.
And then-
Oh.
Din had lost his parents, but he was talking about the new relationship with his hands that his gloves gave him after the loss of his home. The gloves being used both to bring about vulnerability for others while protecting the vulnerability of Din’s open and wanting palms from his youth.
The side of himself that never had the opportunity to mature slowly. The side that grew up too fast but there would always be a sliver of, crying out for home.
Luke blinked, looking back up at Din.
“They were hidden away with a pain I never want to feel again.” Din’s voice wavered, and Luke unconsciously reached out, cradling one between his cupped palms, resting it on his knee.
“Yes, these hands have seen my mistakes, but they’ve seen my successes, too.” Din reached out with his other hand, trailing it along the territory of the faux skin of Luke’s robot hand with a reverence that made Luke’s face hot with something. Something between tears, appreciation and gratefulness.
Perhaps all three.
“The hands I know now were a gift.” Din concluded, looking Luke right in the eye. Luke could puzzle out his message now.
“A second chance.” Luke finished for Din, and he nodded affirmatively.
Not a mark of forgiveness. A possibility to start again.
“They may not have the scars to prove it, but they are mine. Just as much as the hands under the gloves.” Din softened, gloved fingertips lingering around the fleshy part of Luke’s robot wrist, near the open wire access panel.
Luke felt himself flush, flattered by the way Din so deftly applied such a simple yet all-encompassing type of logic to find a solution.
There was earnestness to it, fresh and raw. A hopefulness.
“Hm.” Luke hummed back, letting Din’s truth wash over him and settle, clinking, next to the old one.
Perhaps Luke had been thinking about the robot hand all wrong.
He took in Din with their hands still intertwined in the space between their knees, a pang of warmth filling him.
Look not to the past, but to the future.
Luke smiled. How Jedi of him.
Din’s helmet looked back down at their joined hands, and then back up at Luke.
All of a sudden, Luke was very aware they were still holding hands.
Luke blinked, blushing a deep red, letting go at the same time Din did and pulling his hands in to his chest like they had been burned.
if you can’t get on ao3 tonight it’s because a minecraft streamer rpf fic just updated and all 41k of the authors twitter followers tried to read it at once and yes if reading this confused you it means you’re officially old
you all honest to god have no idea but minecraft rpf IS the biggest fandom right now. most of these people and certainly the people this story is about had no or very little engagement before last year but suddenly millions of american children who 1) love minecraft, 2) are growing up on streaming, 3) have never heard of fandom before, had nothing to do for a full year but sit at home and watch these guys stream. dream, who is a 21 year old streamer who has never shown his face, gained 15 million subs this year. fans of this genre are avid, skew very young, and, as mentioned, have probably never read another fic. the author’s twitter replies are full of young teens explaining to each other what ao3 is and how to make an account there just to read this fic. we have wild times ahead. anyway, if this post really confused you, that’s what’s going on.
